Soothing Hurts
by Iorhael
Summary: Pre-quest, after Bilbo left. Frodo insisted on helping Sam with the lawn, and someone unexpected came over.


**Soothing Hurts**

A twenty-eighth fic by Iorhael

AN: Inspired by **shirebound**'s funny bunny and a packet of shrimp crackers from a friend. My thanks also go to her for her comments and guidance throughout the writing of this fic.

Summary: Pre-quest, after Bilbo left. Frodo insisted on helping Sam with the lawn, and someone unexpected came over.

"_Didn't I tell you? It's no easy thing working in the garden. But me dear master never wants to listen. You kept pushin' and pushin'!"_

"Sam? You were saying?" Frodo lifted his head up, the top of it almost bumping into Sam's jaw. But that did not happen, fortunately, for Sam had pulled back almost at the same time. Furrowing his brow, Sam held his gaze at his master's sharp, inquiring eyes. The gardener swallowed and backed down.

"Nothin', nothin'," he murmured, and he returned his attention to what he was doing --bandaging Frodo's right wrist, swollen heavily after he had sprained it earlier that afternoon.

But the older hobbit did not believe him. Did not _want_ to believe him. Feeling cross, Frodo tugged his hand back, scattering the roll of bandages Sam was trying to tie around the injured body part.

"You're lying!" cried Frodo, eyes red with annoyance. "You blame me for this, right? You blame me for all the pain I must suffer!"

Sam froze in his place, still not looking back to his master.

"Oh no, Mr. Frodo!" Sam's voice was strained, almost in tears. He kneeled down to gather the bandages from the floor but was stopped by a hand grasping his shoulder painfully.

"Let it be there!" snapped Frodo. "Ah!"

Sam was almost snapping himself over the sharp pressure upon his body when Frodo's shriek caught him in alarm. It was one full of pain itself. Sam looked up instantly and rose quickly, both of his soft, meaty hands closing over his master's twisted wrist, after putting aside Frodo's left hand that was almost useless in its attempt to comfort the other.

"Ssh, here Mr. Frodo. Let me do this. We need to wrap your hand so that it won't get worse."

Frodo could only sit quietly on his wooden chair and rest his poor arm on the table, surrendering to any treatment Sam gave him. Sometimes he held his breaths in agony when Sam seemed to _forget _to be gentle. Sometimes, weakly, he had to remind his gardener that he had wrapped it too tightly. And Sam would blush in his guilt and apologize over and over.

Oh! So, getting sprained was hurtful. Frodo had never thought about it before, and he had also never thought he would experience it. After all, what he had done was give a little help to Sam to mow the lawn. Sam had tried to persuade him not to, trying to explain to him that it was a tricky job and it needed quite some skills to do well. But Frodo had insisted and asked for a scythe just like the one Sam was using. Frodo had also told Sam how bored he was to stay inside all day now that Bilbo was gone.

"Well, Mr. Frodo, you can always sit by the door, enjoying the blooming roses and sunflowers," Sam had offered, but his master would not listen. Sighing dejectedly, Sam brought over another scythe.

Frodo had accepted it gladly, and after rolling up his sleeves, he started to swing his blade here and there, clipping and trimming the grass on his front yard. Until suddenly a flick of his wrist went in the wrong direction, and Frodo gasped, the scythe flying out of his hand in Sam's direction, startling him.

"Frodo!" whooped the gardener, dashing to the hobbit now standing in a daze on shaky legs, left hand clutching to the right one close to his chest. Frodo did not seem to hear Sam's shouting, as he was struggling to control the pain; in the meantime, he felt the ground beneath him shifting and threatening to dissolve. The pain streaked down to his stomach, making it clench and send nausea up to his throat. Frodo felt the bile rise and he fought the urge to vomit.

The hobbit swayed as everything suddenly blurred. He looked up amidst his fading consciousness, to Sam, who wrapped his arms around him and walked him toward Bag End's door.

"Oh Sam," Frodo said faintly. Sam did not say anything. He simply led his beloved master inside and sat him on one of the chairs in the dining room.

But Sam could do nothing to sooth the arm. A lump as big as an apple had grown and it was too late now to massage the wrist. Besides, it would be more painful now for Frodo to receive even a mere touch.

"Mr. Frodo-" Sam choked and could only let his master be when he pulled it back to himself. "I… I…" Sam gulped and continued, "Some tea might be o' any help sir," he stuttered, seeing how color had drained from Frodo's face. He whisked away before Frodo had the chance to nod his agreement.

When he returned, Sam found the other hobbit reclining back in the chair, still holding his hand, shivering and damp with sweat. Frodo's eyes were tightly shut. Sam felt giddy himself and slowly, very carefully, he tipped the teacup to Frodo's lips. Frodo jumped a little, but he welcomed the warm brew as it slid down his throat.

Then he drew back.

"It's enough, Sam," Frodo croaked. The tea could indeed calm his nerves but not the throbbing wrist. And that was gradually irritating him. Sam put the cup back to the table and eyed his master nervously.

_"What – what should I do now?"_ He thought.

"Sam," called Frodo through clenched teeth, half pained, half upset. "Check Bilbo's drawer in his room. He keeps some bandages there, I think."

Bilbo's room – oh, what would the Gaffer say? He may not set his feet in that room!

"Sam!" snapped Frodo rather too sharply when he saw Sam did not move. "Go quickly and find them!"

"Y – yes, so I will, Mr. Frodo!" And the poor confused lad could do nothing but dash away.

Frodo sighed and slumped back to the chair. He felt his right wrist getting bigger under his grasp. His dizziness had returned, and he was desperate to lay his depleted self in the bed -- but he did not dare to stand by himself, afraid that he might trip.

Sam – ah, what was taking him so long?

Frodo was starting to drift out his wakefulness when Sam returned and jarred him back with his clamoring shout.

"I found it, Mr. Frodo! Here, let me wrap your hand!"

Frodo was jerked awake and he hissed as spikes were bursting in his head. He was growing lightheaded. He groaned and shouted back, telling Sam to do what he must do. And quickly.

Sam closed his mouth and got to work. Apparently the horrible pain had rendered his master irrational that morning. Frodo was certainly not himself.

# --- # --- #

By the time Sam had finished the wrapping, which he had done with awkwardness and difficulty, Frodo had drifted into oblivion, head tilting up and mouth a little bit open. Sam lowered the bandaged arm slowly onto Frodo's lap and brushing aside some sweat-soaked locks from his master's brow, he whispered in Frodo's ear, waking him up.

"Mr. Frodo, come. Let me put you to bed now." The other hobbit stirred slightly.

"S – Sam? What are you doing here?" Frodo's voice was thin and shaky. Gone was the agitated tone from earlier. Sam gave a troubled smile at the question. He was afraid, though, that Frodo might develop a fever because of his injury. Sam decided he would go to the Gaffer if Frodo was not improving.

"Sam?" repeated Frodo before he felt a tug from his weighted arm. He looked down to his lap and gradually remembered the earlier events. His mind did not come to that faster for the pain had reduced considerably, and Frodo felt grateful for the wrapping that supported his badly swollen wrist well, holding it unyieldingly. Along with the subdued agony, his giddiness had also lessened. But still, the idea of releasing all the tensions in his body upon the smooth surface of the mattress in his bed sounded tempting.

Frodo let himself be hauled onto his feet by Sam, testing if the ground still seemed to turn into jelly, which did not; and he headed to his bedroom by the end of the hall. At times like this he was thankful for Sam's presence by his side. With Bilbo no longer about, Frodo was practically alone except for Sam. The much younger lad meant more than a gardener to him. He had become more like a friend. More like a brother. Frodo would never, ever, treat him unjustly.

And something clicked in his head as he leant over the sturdy build of Sam. Was that right? Had he never hurt Sam?

Frodo had only got a little shock of the sharp and sudden twinge in his hand that caused him to fall unconscious for a short while. He had not lost his memories. The pictures of him lashing out at Sam verbally was still clear in his mind and regret was now mounting.

Frodo was chewing the insides of his cheeks, trying to find a way to express his feeling. He wanted to pull himself off Sam's embrace, but a part of him was reluctant to leave the comfort of the gardener's shoulder.

They walked in silence, but somehow Sam could sense Frodo's restlessness; it was the way Frodo breathed that told him, and the fact that Frodo had started to perspire again. Sam wanted to ask Frodo what had been bothering him, but they had arrived in the bedroom, and Frodo busied himself climbing up the bed and crawling into the cover. Sighing deeply at the sleekness of his bed and resting his arm loosely into the mattress, he nearly forgot what was bothering him, but when he focused his sight on Sam he went jittery again.

"Uh, Samwise," Frodo started, making Sam wonder at the use of his full first name.

But suddenly a knock at the door caused both hobbits to jump in surprise; but Frodo welcomed this diversion, silently.

"Mr. Frodo- " Sam glanced back and forth between Frodo and the direction of the door. "Someone's at the door…"

Frodo dipped more deeply into his pillow, closing his eyes.

"Please see to it," he said weakly.

"But…" A protest was at the tip of his tongue, but Sam held back as he took in the sight of Frodo already nearly asleep. Quietly. Peacefully.

Quietly, Sam retreated from the room. Whatever it was that had been bothering Frodo could be settled after the hobbit awakened. Hopefully, when Frodo recovered, he could rid his troubled mind over Frodo's prior, uncharacteristic ill treatment toward him.

Sam went to the front door and opened it softly.

It was Rose Cotton.

"Rosie?" he could not help squeak. "Oh, pardon. M – miss Cotton?" It was still a high-pitched voice Sam produced before eventually he decided to keep quiet.

Rose stayed calm. She did not want to embarrass Sam more than he already was. Only her smile lingered while her hand reached out with a packet in its gentle grasp. Sam accepted it wordlessly. Only his slightly blushed face now shone with a question on it. He unwrapped the packet and his nostrils twitched involuntarily as a sharp scent spurted out. It smelt like…

"Shrimp?" he asked hollowly.

A nervous chuckle came out of Rose's curved lips.

"No. Only shrimp crackers. Just visited a relative who lives nearby who happened to have just been to Bree," she said, as if that explained everything.

Sam quieted as his brain digested this. So Rose Cotton's relative had been to Bree and then the person gave Rosie the crackers. Now where did those Breelanders get shrimps? And the crackers – how was he going to eat them? Why, what were they anyway?

Sam had been speechless for so long that it began to unsettle Rose.

"You inquired about them once. And I thought – I thought I could find you here so I came around." Rose tried to reason her act.

_"Did I?"_ thought Sam.

"Or… you didn't?" It was Rose now that was blushing. "Oh, goodness! Was it someone else?" Rose started as if she was going to take the parcel back. Luckily, this time, Sam acted faster than he thought.

"We – ll, not that I mind." He pulled his hand out of Rose's reach. The lass blushed even more. But she knew when to give in.

"You don't? Then of course, you may keep them. It's just, you should take them out under the sun before you deep fry them. That will make them taste better." And Rose rushed away.

"Thank you!" Sam was taken by surprise, but he managed to shout it.

_Take out to the sun and deep fry_. This could be a nice surprise for his master, a rather unfamiliar snack. But there was no sun at this time of the day, so why did he not just do the next step – deep frying them?

Sam went to the kitchen, and soon everything had been prepared. The hearth was lit. An iron rack was spread over the fire and on it Sam placed a frying pan filled with corn oil. He let the heat spread evenly before he finally emptied the contents of the parcel into the pan. Rosie was such a generous young lady to bestow him with so many pieces of crackers. Sam grinned as he thought of her.

Then he took a wooden spoon and tried to stir the oil that was crammed with the goodies, and failed miserably. Finally Sam let them be, grabbing a stool and sat waiting for the crackers to be done.

The hot oil sizzled up and let out such sharp crackling and sputtering that Sam started to think he would burn them all down if he did not do something quickly. He rose to grab a plate and removed the crackers one by one into it. They had not burned yet. In fact, they looked rather… pale.

There were sounds of steps approaching and Sam whipped his head up in alarm.

"Sam, what are you doing?" It was Frodo with arching eyebrows and curious eyes. Sam put the plate on the table in a startled fashion to catch his master on his arms.

"Master! You should be resting."

"I'm all right, Sam." Just like his gardener earlier, Frodo's nose was also twitching at the smell. "It's this smell and the noise that awakened me. What is this? Where did you get it?"

Sam helped Frodo sit before he took the plate and presented it. He held it right under Frodo's nose. Frodo chuckled a little and drew back, but it was apparent that he was tempted, too. As a growl was heard from his stomach, Frodo marveled that he could feel hungry after all that he experienced. He lifted his left hand and picked one that was closest and no longer too hot. The food looked like a pancake, only smaller in size, and its color was a darker hue of white. It was also as limp as a pancake.

"These are crackers. Shrimp crackers. Rose just came here. I guess you will enjoy them, Mr. Frodo."

There was something uneasy in Frodo's opinion concerning the snack, but he could not tell what. He just nodded and brought it to his mouth. Frodo took a small bite and spit it out almost simultaneously. Sam's eyes widened, not really able to conceal his hurt feelings.

"Mr. Frodo!"

Strangely, his Mr. Frodo was cracking into a merry laugh, which hurt Sam even further. He gazed helplessly at his master.

"Why -"

"Sam," chortled Frodo. "What has Rose told you about how to make it? It's still uncooked, Sam."

"But they would have been burned had I let them a little longer in the heated oil!" Sam was in the verge of tears. Frodo shrugged.

"I don't know, Sam. I just know that crackers are supposed to be crispy."

Suddenly Rose's words flashed across Sam's mind, something about letting them under the sun. Sam despaired. He had not listened to her. He had ruined his little surprise!

"Oh, Mr. Frodo…" He looked more helpless than when he faced the ailing Frodo. Frodo did not know what had made his friend so wretched. Once more Sam had shown him how precious he was. There was only one thing he wanted – to make Frodo happy. To take care of him. It was so unfair that Sam had become the receiving end of his scorn. And all because of Frodo's own mistake, and his inability to bear such a small, meaningless pain.

Frodo slumped in his chair, no longer laughing. He looked seriously and apologetically at Sam.

"Sam… It was nothing. I'll still enjoy it, crispy or not. You've done so much, while I always forget to tell you how grateful I am."

Sam looked back at him, not knowing exactly what to say.

"And I have been such a bother this afternoon." Frodo gathered his head in his hands, avoiding Sam's soft and caring gaze toward him. "I've bawled out at you though it was actually my own mistake." Frodo looked up. "You must hate me now."

Sam blushed, recalling how he had had a thought that Frodo actually _deserved_ what he got, being hurt and all. And now Sam regretted having been so wicked.

"I do not, Mr. Frodo!" The young gardener dropped to his knees before Frodo and took his master's hands. "I understand the feeling. I hate it, too, when you are rendered helpless by injury." Sam kissed the hands and rested them gently on Frodo's lap. "But I won't mind havin' you help me in the garden again, Mr. Frodo, as long as you promise to finish the crackers."

Frodo burst into a teary laughter and wrapped his arms about Sam's neck tightly, almost as tight as the bandage around his wrist, and whispered, "I will eat anything you prepare for me, Samwise Gamgee."

Finish


End file.
